


My Next Door Neighbour Is Batman!

by loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5 + 1 Things, Goofy - Freeform, Lance being a complete dork for 8K words, Lighthearted, M/M, Neighbours AU, mysterious!shiro, some poopy language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 20:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS/pseuds/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS
Summary: Lance is convinced his hot new neighbour is Batman, so he does what any self-respecting next door neighbour would do: spy on him.aka the five times that fuel Lance's suspicions and the one time that confirms them
Relationships: Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 113





	My Next Door Neighbour Is Batman!

**Author's Note:**

> lol i don’t go here, but i _had to_ write this shance story ^^

I

Lance prided himself on being the guy with all the news about everyone. Call him nosy, but it was kind of his thing to hoard details.

So it was a surprise to him when he came back from his long shift at the vet clinic only to see a bunch of moving boxes stacked outside of the condo next door to his. Usually when someone moved in or at least was interested in purchasing a place at the complex, the process took long enough that everyone found out about the potential new neighbour before they moved in. Not to mention, usually the future owner tended to introduce themselves while still deliberating on whether to buy the condo. And since they were right next door, Lance thought he would have heard or noticed people visiting 3F. It seemed like the person had just moved in that afternoon or something and it was a little bit weird.

Either way, Lance was curious who now occupied the long vacant condo next to his and peeked inside the open door, doing a cursory glance inside to see if he could make out any people. The person was clearly still moving in, considering even more boxes were stacked inside in haphazard piles. Plus there was no furniture.

“Hello?” Lance called out, rapping his knuckles on the door. “Knock, knock, neighbour.”

“Oh, sorry.” A deep voice called from the living area, though Lance couldn’t immediately see him at first. “Didn’t realise I had a visitor.”

A tall, _gorgeous_ Asian man with a chiselled jawline stood up from behind where he’d been hidden by some of the larger stacks. Lance wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting, but the man had a shock of tousled grey hair, which wouldn’t have been shocking except that he was fairly young in appearance. Maybe early thirties. Not that much older than Lance, he figured. He looked kind of dorky, especially with his wide rim frames, but there was an intensity to his dreamy slate grey eyes that told Lance whatever perceptions he had, he was wrong.

But nothing about his appearance was as eye-catching as the long puckered scar running across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, as if someone had just taken a knife to his face and slashed right across. It definitely changed his appearance from unassuming to potentially dangerous, aided only by the fact that it was obvious he was pretty muscled, even through the suit he was wearing.

Despite that, he was undeniably attractive, and Lance was pleased there was finally some eye candy in this complex.

Lance set his signature, most charming smile on his face as the man approached and held out his hand for him to shake. “Lance McClain. I live in 3E next door. Just wanted to see if you wanted any help moving those boxes in.”

“Uh, Takashi Shirogane. Most people just call me Shiro though.” Shiro smiled as they shook hands, and Lance couldn’t help but register his smile, though awkward as if he didn’t normally use his face muscles that way, made him look extra delicious. It was kind of weird that he was wearing a black suit to move in though, plus he was wearing black leather gloves indoors. “And yeah. I’d appreciate it a lot. I’ve been moving boxes all afternoon and I’m sick of it.”

“Say no more. I’m your guy.”

He was exhausted from all the pets he’d had to see today, plus the cocker spaniel’s leg surgery, but it was worth it to get the chance to secretly ogle Shiro’s cute bum as he stooped to move packages.

Lance got to work helping to move the boxes outside to the designated rooms Shiro had labelled them. They made small talk while they worked, just making general introductions, and Lance was pretty intrigued by Shiro. He was kind of softspoken, the type of person who looked like they’d be aggressive at first glance but was pretty calm. Didn’t seem to be that big on conversation, and he was just the slightest bit awkward, but it was really endearing.

Apparently, Shiro had moved that morning from the next city over. It was a sudden change that he couldn’t plan out and he’d bought the first place he’d seen, so he didn’t know anything about the city at all or anyone. Lance thought it was weird how quickly he managed to buy the condo when the process took so long. He must have been able to drop some serious cash to buy it in one morning.

“Well, I know every best takeout place this side of town. All the best hangout zones. All the best diners and bars. This particular area is more residential, but there’s a great nightlife in midtown.”

Shiro grunted as he dropped a box on top of the kitchen island. “You’ve lived here a while?”

“My whole life,” Lance responded fondly, nudging a softer box into a corner to free up some walking space. “I work at the veterinarian clinic about two blocks down the street from here. Can’t miss it. Got the giant paw print statue in front.”

“I did see that driving in.”

“Yeah, so, if you ever need to know about any places or are itching to do something fun, I’m your go-to guy. I’ve got all the details about everything you need.” Lance leaned his elbow against the kitchen counter, accepting the water Shiro tossed to him from the fridge. “My friends and I are actually going out drinking tomorrow night. You’re welcome to join us if you want? I can show you some starter spots in the city so you don’t die of boredom early on.”

Shiro nodded, taking off his glasses and setting them by the sink before running a hand through his tousled grey hair. “I appreciate the invitation. But I’m a teetotaller.”

“Wow. I thought people like you were mythical creatures. Like unicorns.” Lance’s lips turned up in a smile when Shiro snorted.

“Yeah. We exist,” he drawled.

“That’s cool though. So I guess I can add you to the list of teetotallers I know now.”

“Who else do you know?”

“The Dark Knight,” Lance said, like it was obvious.

Shiro chuckled at the comment, and then they both tackled moving one of the biggest items, an elongated rectangular box that was pretty heavy. It was labelled fragile and they shuffled at snail’s pace to set it down by the bay window.

When they’d finally gotten it in a secure position, Shiro’s watch started beeping in earnest. Lance straightened just in time to see Shiro scowl as he checked the time. And Lance was taken aback by the expression on his face. It was like his whole jovial demeanour was gone, replaced by a dark look worrying his brow.

“Hey, Lance, listen,” Shiro started softly, pushing a button on his watch to cut the noise. “I really appreciate your help, but I have to go in to the office tonight. You know work…”

“Office? This late on a Friday?” Lance asked with a raised brow. “What, are you in some secret spy organisation?”

“Crime doesn’t stop just because it’s the weekend, right?” Shiro responded idly with a wink, something playful dancing in his grey eyes, though for some reason, it seemed a little disingenuous. “See you around, neighbour?”

It was a subtle dismissal, but Lance understood it loud and clear that Shiro needed him to leave.

“Yeah, okay… see ya. If you ever wanna hang, feel free to stop by my place anytime.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Shiro said, though absentmindedly.

Lance walked out, glancing over his shoulder. As he was opening the door to leave Shiro’s phone started to ring. Shiro picked up the phone, and his expression went from somewhat neutral to being creased with a serious frown. It almost entirely changed up his whole demeanour in a way that actually put a chill down Lance’s back. He looked dangerous.

“Yeah… it’s me,” he growled in a low voice. “What’s the situation?”

And the door closed before Lance could listen in further. But he was really surprised that a guy who looked as calm and unassuming as Shiro could even have such an expression on his face.

Lance shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Why was he surprised anyway? This whole town was pretty much made up of weirdos…

II

He didn’t talk to Shiro at all for a while after their first meeting, but he definitely heard him often.

Lance called him a ghost neighbour in his mind because he could definitely hear whenever Shiro was in his apartment or heading in or out, but they never ran into each other. He grew accustomed to Shiro’s odd schedule though.

Sometimes Shiro would be gone for days at a time, so Lance took to getting his mail and slipping it under the door for when he returned. He never got personal mail; it was always catalogues for sales on suits at men’s clothing stores. Sometimes Lance would get home from his shift at the vet’s ready to drop into his bed and sleep, and he’d hear Shiro getting up, showering, and leaving. Occasionally, Lance would be leaving for work early in the morning only to see the back of a haggard and exhausted looking Shiro trudging into his apartment for the day.

But no matter what he was doing in his condo, as soon as the watch beeped, Shiro would leave his place in record time without a second thought.

It was weird, but Lance didn’t question it.

(And at least it wasn’t like he was hearing Shiro hooking up with someone, so that was a plus).

On one of his laundry days, by chance, Lance happened upon Shiro in their complex’s affiliated laundromat when he headed there to wash some of his dirty scrubs. Shiro had a laundry hamper under his arm resting on his hips and was staring at the commands on the machine with furrowed brows. Lance shuffled in to the machine beside him, dropping his own hamper beside their legs with a grunt.

“Hey, neighbour,” Shiro said, one corner of his mouth curved up in a seriously attractive little smile. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Lance smiled too, reaching down to start sorting his laundry in two different machines, “how are things going?”

“Great… except for the fact I can’t seem to figure out how to work this machine…” Shiro yawned, though the look on his face was sheepish. “Can’t use tech for shit. You know how this works? I put my coins in already, but nothing on the screen is changing.”

“So that grey hair isn’t just for show, eh?” Lance quipped, nudging him with his elbow and relishing in Shiro’s genuine laugh. “You have to put your detergent in the casing before the screen will let you change the settings.”

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, setting down his own hamper to uncap his detergent. He lifted the cover and carelessly poured out a bunch. Lance stared at him, wondering why Shiro thought he needed that enormous amount of detergent for the small amount of clothing he had to wash. Was he not used to doing laundry? “Oh, and thanks for grabbing my mail when I’m not around. I work really late, and I’m usually out of town so I never really think about it.”

“It’s no problem.” Lance waved it off as he separated his white undershirts and dress shirts from the blue scrubs and stuck them in adjacent machines. “I don’t mind looking out for your place while you’re gone too. I can give you my number if you’d ever like me to check on things?”

Shiro agreed and they exchanged numbers. After that they worked silently for a bit, though Lance found himself eyeing Shiro’s laundry, a bunch of identical black dress shirts, black slacks, and black blazers with awkward stains in inconvenient places. Some of them looked pretty worn out, and as Shiro scratched at the stain on one of the pants, Lance wondered if Shiro was here only because he didn’t know the area still.

“There’s a dry cleaner at the shopping centre of my clinic. They have a sale going on if you wanted an easier way to clean your suits in bulk.”

“Easier to just clean it on my own.” A wry look appeared on his face as he tossed another two black dress pants in the machine. “People see awkward stuff and then they start getting curious.”

Well considering Shiro was pretty mysterious and weird on his own, Lance wasn’t surprised. For one, why Shiro was wearing black gloves and a suit in the middle of a weekend evening to do his laundry was beyond Lance. And on top of that, out of the corner of his eyes, Lance caught Shiro picking up a seriously tattered black shirt, looking completely ravaged. Shiro tutted under his breath before he stuffed it back to the bottom of the hamper.

It was a little shocking truth be told. The shirt had dark, uneven, dried patches of stains in random spots and was torn and cut up all over, as if someone had taken a knife to it.

“Do you exclusively wear black clothes?” Lance asked, partially joking, but actually genuinely interested in knowing why that was Shiro’s coloured clothing of choice. Plus the whole gloves thing was kind of strange. “Camouflage for your night job or something?”

“Something like that…” Shiro mused, eyeing Lance in amusement, though when his watch beeped, he hurried to dump the rest of the clothes in and started his machine. “I have to go. See you around, Lance.”

“Will you though…?” Lance responded playfully.

“_Yeah_… probably not,” Shiro quipped back, waving nonchalantly before unceremoniously leaving the laundromat.

Lance stared after him, honestly even more confused about how weird Shiro was than before. It was clear that the man was hiding something, and while Lance had thought maybe his abrupt way of handling conversation was just a testament to the fact that Shiro may have just been an awkward person, the way he handled himself gave Lance the impression of a cat waiting to strike. And there was something shrewd hidden deep in his gaze. Plus his strange job. Whoever Shiro was, he took active measures to try to conceal it.

And as the person who knew everything about everyone, Lance wanted to get to the bottom of the reason why.

III

Lance considered himself a sociable conversationalist. The type able to draw people out of their shells, and he knew Shiro wasn’t going to be the type to be forthcoming about his life on his own. So he hit him up one day when he heard Shiro shuffling around in his place and invited him over to chill and watch the hockey game, promising five cheese nacho bean dip and alcohol free drinks.

He mostly was planning to try to get Shiro to open up about his life, but Shiro agreed and headed over a few minutes later. He was wearing the suit and gloves again, and while Lance knew it was getting pretty cold outside nowadays, they were _indoors_. Not to mention, Shiro had been in his apartment all day. Lance didn’t get why that was his choice of leisure outfit.

But nevertheless, they plopped down on the couch to watch the game, and he quickly learned that Shiro was just as huge of a hockey fan as pretty much everyone in their town was. They got pretty loud and rowdy with their cheering and shouts, and it was funny to Lance that the usually composed Shiro was the one cussing the most at the screen and saying shit about the referee’s calls.

It was honestly great seeing that side of Shiro. It wasn’t just because it made him more approachable either. The man’s eyes were bright and vibrant in a way that seemed rare for him, and Lance really liked seeing it.

“You ever played hockey before?” Lance asked Shiro during a commercial break, pulling a leg up on the couch while he sipped his beer. “You’ve got the build for it.”

“Back in high school…” Shiro said as he reminisced, arm resting on the back of the couch as he shifted to face Lance. “Got in too many fights and got kicked off the team though.”

“What?” Lance laughed. “Wow, you must have been really aggressive to get kicked off a _hockey _team of all things.”

“I was a pretty angry teen. Didn’t have the greatest life so I took it out on others.”

This was his chance to pry. “I would never have guessed. You’ve got that whole tall, dark, calm, cool, and collected thing going on.”

“Had to train myself intensively to adopt that state of mind.” He stared at his gloved right hand. “Not much you can do when you’re an orphaned kid with very few options…”

Lance stilled, the rim of his bottle halfway to his mouth. “Oh… uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up old wounds.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Shiro shook his head, a soft, reassuring smile on his lips. “It’s a dull ache now.”

“Damn… I made this so awkward, didn’t I?” Lance chuckled, running a hand through his hair and pulling his bangs off his forehead.

“Not at all…” he responded honestly, his eyes dancing with warmth.

Lance took a long swig of his drink, if only to try to stop his cheeks from rouging. Shiro’s gaze was always intense—he had a way of looking at Lance like there was no one else in his world but Lance or something—and it made his heart thrum just a little harder. Weird or not, Shiro was pretty damn attractive.

Shiro’s phone suddenly rang, snapping them out of whatever moment they were in, and nearly making Lance jump in his seat. He scowled as he pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID.

“Hey sorry, I need to take this real quick.”

Lance waved him off not to worry about it. “Take your time.”

Shiro apologised once more as he stood up to leave Lance’s condo to take the call in the hallway. Lance told himself not to, but he couldn’t resist, and as soon as his door shut, Lance bounded off the couch and crept to the door. He stared out the peephole, watching Shiro pace slowly. The man looked a little pissed, and Lance craned his ears as best as he could to listen to what he was saying.

“No. We are not talking about this again,” Shiro growled. “I don’t care if you need a sitter. You know I’m scared of bats, okay? I’m not coming over.”

“Scared of bats?” Lance mumbled under his breath, his brows knit in confusion as he tried to piece together what the conversation could possibly be about. “What the hell kind of conversation…?”

“Look,” Shiro responded after listening to the other person for a little bit, “if you’re concerned so much, find someone else. In_ your _city. Stop asking me.”

Shiro snapped the flip phone shut and turned to walk back in the condo. Lance gasped, sprinting from his spot and damn near vaulting over his couch to get back to his seat. The door opened just as he crashed into his coffee table, banging his leg on it and knocking over his beer on the carpet. Cursing, Lance grabbed some napkins and dabbed on the stain just as Shiro walked back into the living space.

“Lance…?”

“Err… dropped my beer,” Lance explained, trying not to let his guilt at eavesdropping show up on his face.

Shiro grabbed a couple paper towels as well and helped him to mop up the most they could of the stain. Lance was likely going to have to do a thorough cleaning some other time, but they sopped up enough of the excess liquid fast enough that it didn’t horribly stick to the fibres, which was a relief. Shiro chilled on the couch while Lance grabbed all the waste and dirty dishes and headed back to the kitchen to dump the trash and get the dishwasher loaded up. Lance took extra time scrubbing off his dishes for an excuse to stare at the back of Shiro’s head.

The more he learned about this man, the more confused he grew regarding him. Usually Lance could read people pretty damn well. He was exceptionally perceptive to their emotions and moods and could figure them out like nobody’s business. But Shiro? He was pretty sure he’d had a better read on him the first time they’d met. The man was a bit reserved, he wore suits and gloves everywhere, he had this strange mysterious job that wrung him dry every night. How was Lance supposed to put that scattered information together to make sense of this guy?

And as if on cue, Shiro’s watch beeped in that telltale sign that he had to leave for work.

“Duty calls?” Lance walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands off on a dish towel.

“I had a good time tonight,” Shiro responded by way of apology, standing up with a slight wince. “I don’t go out much so this was a nice change of pace.”

“We should do something like this again sometime.” Lance walked him to the door with smile. “Your place, maybe?”

It would definitely help Lance in his efforts to get to know who Shiro was.

Shiro looked a little surprised at first, but he nodded, seemingly pleased by the suggestion. “That’d be great. If you don’t mind that I’ve got a shit ton of cardboard boxes as furniture.”

“_Still_ haven’t moved in yet?”

“I’m barely home as is. Work keeps me busy.” His watch beeped again, an urgent reminder, and Shiro cut it off, that usual stoic glare sliding on his face, almost as if he was getting into work mode. “Have a good night, Lance.”

Shiro left in a cloud of nice cologne, and Lance shook his head, wondering if he would ever figure out what the deal was with this man.

“I mean…” Lance muttered under his breath as he hopped back on the couch with the bag of tortilla chips, sprawling sideways to watch the rest of the game. “It’s just not coming together. A teetotaller, night job that he drops everything for at the blink of a second, scared of _bats…_?”

And a thought struck him as he nibbled absentmindedly on a corn chip.

When they’d first met, Shiro had made some comment about crime in the city on the weekends. Lance had likened it to a joke at the time, but what if it hadn’t been one. Plus his evasive responses to certain things Lance had joked about regarding his work. Not to mention the comment about the intensive training to get his head right after he was orphaned. And the screwed up clothing like he’d gotten in a knife fight or fought some deranged villain or something…

And Lance sat up abruptly, spilling the bag on the floor, though he barely paid it any mind when his heart was thundering in his chest.

“No way… Shiro is _Batman_.”

IV

For a couple days, Lance pushed the idea away, thinking it was way too crazy to be true, but it was too late. Once the idea took root in his mind, it refused to leave.

Lance spent the next several days preoccupied with the thought that he was living next door to a superhero. Every time Shiro’s watch beeped and the subsequent hours when he returned later, Lance scrambled on the internet to see if there was some alert about some crime that had been stopped. And there always was.

It was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying that right next to him could be the best superhero that ever lived. And Lance _knew_ him in person. It brought all sorts of questions like why he wasn’t living in a mansion, and where the batmobile was, and if he had some secret passageway in his condo leading to some giant underground cave.

Although Lance was pretty certain he was on the right track, he knew he needed a bit more proof before he could come to any definitive conclusions. So every time he heard Shiro’s phone ringing through the bedroom wall, Lance wasn’t even ashamed that he pressed his ear to it to try to hear something. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really catch anything because Shiro would move away. But one day, he’d overheard Shiro calling some guy to see if he wanted to meet up to spar. Lance had jotted down every detail and on the day of, a handful of minutes after Shiro had left to meet up with said person, Lance slipped on a pair of shades and a beanie, put on some exercise ware and headed to the gym about a few blocks away.

Gym membership wasn’t required and guest entry for one day was free, so Lance used that and entered, pointedly ignoring the amused look the front desk guy gave him. It was one of those bodybuilder gyms, and Lance was definitely one of the skinniest guys there which afforded him no shortage of weird looks from some of the men busting their asses to work out. He grabbed a pair of dumbbells and half-heartedly did some arm curls in the corner at the perfect vantage point to see the entire room and the sparring mats.

And Lance almost didn’t find Shiro, because he half expected Shiro to be working out in a suit.

He _wasn’t._

Shiro was sparring in the middle of the mats with some other bulky guy, totally shirtless, and he was _kicking his ass_. Even though Lance was distracted by the cut of Shiro’s biceps, his rippling ab muscles and juicy pecs, he wasn’t ogling him so much that he couldn’t tell that Shiro was legit. The way he fought the man was like an agile tiger or a viper, precise, each strike powerful, with intense focus and absolutely no openings. He wasn’t scrappy nor did he get sloppy, and he was smart about the moves he made. Bided his time. Watched like a hawk for openings and then struck hard and fast. It was the kind of disciplined fighting that Lance _knew_ only a trained professional could obtain after several years of hard work.

(It was incredibly hot).

“New guy showed up about two months ago. No one has beaten him once, even with one arm tied behind his back,” some guy said to Lance, jutting his chin towards Shiro as he grabbed a couple dumbbells. “He’s so damn good it’s hard not to watch, right?”

His fighting style wasn’t the only thing that kept Lance’s eyes glued to him though. Shiro was _covered _in numerous scars littering his whole torso and along his back, some faded and long healed, others not healed so well, skin still a little puckered, not unlike the one on his face. And there were some fresh slashes, still scabbed and in the process of healing.

But the thing Lance eyes were drawn to most, unable to look away from was the badass, dangerous looking high tech gunmetal prosthetic of his right arm. It looked heavy, but Shiro used it flawlessly, as if a true extension of his shoulder. Lance knew why he always wore gloves now. If anybody found out Batman had a metal arm, it’d probably be extremely easy to figure out his identity. Lance wondered if he’d received that due to a freak accident with one of the villains he was pursuing.

Honestly, Lance had seen enough.

“Peak physical form…” he muttered under his breath, adding it as more evidence to his theory as he headed back down the sidewalk to head home. “Checks out.”

It was all coming together cleanly, but he just needed a little bit more evidence. Something to seal the deal for his hypothesis.

And Lance was determined to get it.

V

From that day on, whenever Lance talked to Shiro, he almost slipped up multiple times and called him Batman. But he couldn’t help it. The more and more evidence Lance sorted out in his head, the more the images of Shiro and Batman began to merge. For one, Shiro being able to buy the condo in an hour could only be done by someone obscenely rich. Plus Lance remembered what he’d said about people getting curious that time they’d run into each other at the laundromat. His night work. His constantly battle worn suits. His perfect muscles. The stoic attitude. How serious he was regarding his job. Sometimes it almost seemed as if like Batman, Shiro was warring with two personalities, unsure which one he truly was or something.

Lance couldn’t come up with any alternatives regarding Shiro, so it was the only thing that made sense.

So when Shiro ran into him on the way to get to the vet clinic for his shift and awkwardly asked him if he wanted to have dinner at his place that night, Lance jumped eagerly on the invitation. He’d originally been planning to abuse the privileges Shiro afforded him to condo watch while he was away, but an open invitation was an even better chance to get some much needed snooping done.

“I hope you like lasagne. It’s the only thing I know how to make to be honest…” Shiro said, stepping out of the doorway to let Lance in.

The condo was much more cleaned up than months ago when Lance had been in there. The boxes, though still not unpacked were stacked up in precise piles and moved against the wall. There was a lot more space in the condo, but the lack of most basic furniture made the place look like a storage room rather than living quarters.

“I bought some furniture,” Shiro said proudly as he brought some plates over to the low coffee table. “And kitchen ware.”

“Yupp… the coffee table really ties this whole room of cardboard boxes together,” Lance drawled, though he was subtly glancing around hoping to find something incriminating.

Shiro laughed, heading back to the kitchen to check on the lasagne. “I’m doing my best here, man. Give me _some_ props.”

“Shiro, you mind if I go to the bathroom real quick?”

“Uh, sure. Layout is the same as yours, just flipped.”

Lance walked through the hallway towards the bathroom and closed the door loudly, pretending to have gone inside while he crept on and snuck into Shiro’s bedroom.

It wasn’t particularly furnished either. There was an unbuilt desk in the corner, a simple mattress with a blanket in the other corner, and boxes everywhere. Nothing in the closet, though several freshly pressed suits were hung up on a bellman cart by the wall. But not much of anything else.

A little frustrated, Lance went over to the boxes and scavenged through the top ones as quickly as he could. One of the boxes was full of folded black dress shirts. Another was filled to the brim with pants.

“Oh my God…” Lance grumbled under his breath. “How many suits can one man own?!”

Then again, if one was busted up every night, he probably had to have a bunch ready to go. Made sense why he constantly received the catalogues now.

But when Lance opened the other box, he was surprised to see a full set of small, black, fully sharpened blades, no hilt or anything. Lance’s brows furrowed and he picked one up, surprised to see Shiro have so many of these weapons. Were these the supply he used to create his Batarangs or something?

“Lance?” Shiro called out from the living room. “You doing okay?”

Lance inhaled sharply, cursing under his breath as he dropped the knife back in and hurried to close up the boxes. He tiptoe-ran back to the bathroom and carefully opened the door a crack to sneak back in. Then he flushed the toilet and let the sink run for a couple seconds before he walked back to where Shiro was waiting. He’d done up the whole table, set up everything quite nicely, and while Lance thought the spread looked great, his stomach was in knots and he desperately needed to leave to process what he’d seen.

“Yeah, I’m uh… not good.” His hands were practically shaking, and he didn’t know how to look Shiro in the face knowing his secret. “I think I’m about to have some explosive diarrhoea.”

Shiro looked alarmed. “That sounds… distressing.”

“Yeah. So I’m just gonna…” he gestured with his thumb backwards to the door. “Raincheck for tonight?”

“Uh, yeah…” Shiro stared down at the table for a second before meeting Lance’s gaze and giving him a somewhat tight smile. “No problem…”

Lance split, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he went straight back to his condo, slamming the door shut behind him as he leaned back against it.

Okay, so he was pretty sure his neighbour was Batman. And Lance had discovered one of the most dangerously well-kept secrets known to man. Superhero identities were supposed to be kept secret at all costs, and Shiro’s was probably no exception. If Takashi Shirogane was even his real name.

It was as exciting as it was scary, and Lance felt like he kind of wanted to throw up.

What was he supposed to do now that he knew?

VI

For days Lance agonised over his secret, but while he was decent at keeping secrets, this one was so huge he didn’t want to keep it to himself at all. He needed a second opinion, even if he felt like maybe it wasn’t something he should share.

“Lance, you’ve been bouncing your leg all night. And you haven’t said anything in almost five minutes,” Hunk said, turning away from the TV above the bartending area to look at him. “Is there something on your mind?”

Lance stared at Hunk and Keith, conflicted, but if he didn’t get this secret out sooner or later, he was going to _die_.

“What would…” He swirled his finger around the rim of his glass. “What would you guys say if I told you I met Batman?”

“I’d ask you what you were smoking when this encounter occurred,” Keith intoned without missing a beat.

Lance scowled at him. “I’m serious. I’m pretty sure my next door neighbour is Batman!”

They both stared at Lance for a second, and then Hunk leaned forward and put his hand on his forehead.

“He doesn’t feel warm…” he muttered, eyeing Keith nervously.

“I’m not sick! He’s really Batman!” Lance slapped Hunk’s hand off his forehead and leaned forward, talking emphatically, but keeping his voice low in case anyone was listening. “This hot as all hell guy moved in next door and is the most in-shape person I have ever seen in my life! I’m talking droolworthy body with _thick_ muscles. And he has this cool _metal arm_ that looks like something straight from a scifi film. Or a comic book!”

“You sure you’re not just attracted to him, Lance?”

“I _am_ attracted to him, but that’s not the point! He has _professional_ fighting skills,” Lance continued, ticking fingers off with each of his points, “works exclusively nights, he has a box with an absurd amount of knives in his room, he wears expensive black suits and the suits get torn up and tattered with what I’m sure are blood stains, he’s an orphan, never drinks alcohol, and get this…”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“He has a fear… of bats,” Lance finished, leaning back in the booth and using both his hands to gesture to the table. “Boom. _Batman_.”

Keith and Hunk both gave him unimpressed looks for several seconds, and with a sigh, Hunk picked up his porter and went back to watching the hockey game on the TV. Keith’s brows creased in that way they usually did when he was giving Lance a look like he was the dumbest person on Earth.

“Lance.” Keith sighed, shaking his head. “Come up for air. You’re drowning.”

“What?” he said indignantly. “I’m not wrong! These are all strong evidence!”

“No they’re not.” Keith argued back, biting off half of a potato wedge from his basket and then pointing it at him. “Lots of people don’t drink alcohol. Some bats have rabies so the fear is justified. Businessmen wear black suits too or what. Do you think every guy who works in finance is Batman now?”

“If they were isolated occurrences, maybe it might make sense, but all together?” Lance turned to Hunk. “C’mon, man. You’ve gotta admit it’s _weird_!”

“I… I admit it’s a little _coincidental_, but I think you’re having another one of those eureka moments that ends in a complete misunderstanding,” Hunk responded, glancing at Keith in mirth. “Remember when he thought our TA Lotor was a vampire way back in college?”

“And the whole Pidge is a mad scientist spiel just because her robot exploded and blew up a lab.” Keith rolled his eyes in long-suffering fatigue.

“And that time he became obsessed with—”

“Okay, first of all,” Lance cut them off with an arched brow and raised finger, “I wasn’t the only one who thought Lotor was a vampire! He perpetuated that rumour himself by acting like a total nightcrawling weirdo who no one ever saw during the day! And I don’t care what anyone says. He had _fangs_! And second, we have yet to prove she _isn’t_ some mad scientist!”

“Be that as it may, Lance, our point is, this is a habit for you.” Keith dipped his fry in some mayo before finishing off the last bit of it. “Getting all worked up and fixated about something and then acting like an idiot trying to prove it and next thing you know, you’ve started this huge mess. And maybe you should take some time to _really_ think about why your reasoning might be a little farfetched. Comic book superheroes don’t exist in the real world.”

“Correlation does not equal causation, buddy…” Hunk supplied with a smile.

“Plus I’m sick of having to bail you out of situations because you jumped first and asked questions later!” Keith added.

But Lance had stopped listening to them. He’d trailed his gaze out of the bar window, and he did a double take when he saw _Shiro_ slinking briskly down the sidewalk, his head down, almost inconspicuous in the night. He was like a phantom, looking invisible somehow despite his size and stature and his bright hair.

But what freaked Lance out the most was the long black cape that billowed behind him as he walked.

He was totally unaware that anyone had even noticed him. Lance could follow him. He could get his proof and show his friends that he was definitely right about this Shiro being Batman thing.

“I gotta go guys…” Lance mumbled, eyes tracking the direction Shiro had disappeared as he climbed out of the booth and hurried to slip on his coat.

Hunk looked up at him in confusion. “Game just started. Where are you going?”

“Hey!” Keith barked at him as Lance started hurrying to head out before he lost Shiro. “We’re not paying for your food!”

“Uhh… I got you next time!”

“That’s what you said last time!” he called after him.

Lance burst out of the noisy bar, running immediately across the street despite the sudden honking from some cars stuck in traffic. He took off in the direction Shiro had gone. He was about halfway down the next block, and Lance picked up his pace, his heart pounding as he jogged a bit to keep up with Shiro’s stride.

This was it. He would take a picture or something and get direct evidence once and for all.

Far ahead, Shiro ducked into an alleyway, and when Lance finally got to that corner, he pressed his back against the wall, peeking around slowly with baited breath.

Shiro was standing by a fire escape, his watch held up to his mouth as he spoke into it.

“Tell Dick it’s been taken care of,” Shiro said quietly, perfunctorily. “I’ll need an extraction in the next few days. We need cleaners too.”

“Dick…?” Lance’s eyes went wide. “_Dick Grayson_?!”

That was it.

_There_ was his final piece of the puzzle.

“_Aha_! The hypothesis is proven!” Lance jumped out into the alley, a finger pointed at Shiro. Shiro stiffened, moving the watch away from his face as he spun around and stared at Lance. “I know your secret!”

“_Lance_? What are you—”

“I _knew_ you were Batman!” Lance hissed, storming over to him. “Don’t even try to deny it; I have all the proof I need!”

“…B-batman? _What_—”

“I’ve been watching you for weeks! Everything about your life matches up to the Caped Crusader!” Lance pressed indignantly. “The jig is up already! How do you explain you not drinking alcohol, huh?!”

Shiro’s brows slowly furrowed as he stared at him, looking as if he was trying to figure him out. “Are— are you joking, right now, or…?”

“I’m serious. Batman doesn’t drink alcohol! And neither do you!”

His eyes narrowed, though he still looked like he was waiting for a punchline to drop or something. “…I don’t drink because my father was a raging alcoholic, Lance. He tried AA multiple times, failed multiple times, and died from wasting away his liver when I was a kid, so I refuse to touch the stuff.”

Lance blinked in surprise. “Oh… I-I thought…? But you said you’re orphaned… your mom?”

“Never really knew her. She split when I was a baby.”

Lance didn’t know what to say. “Well what about your fear of bats?”

“How do you know I’m…?” Shiro sighed, sticking his hands in his tattered pants pockets. “I’m not really scared of them. I just hate them. My ex kept them as pets in our flat. Relationship didn’t end all that well so I associate bats with him now.”

“But you were on the phone with someone telling them you were scared.”

“That’s because sometimes he calls me asking to housesit them, and I just don’t want to. Explaining why takes too long, so it’s easier to tell him they scare me.” He looked confused. “Have you been… spying on me, Lance?”

He licked his lips nervously. “I prefer to call it acute observation.”

“Uh huh…” Shiro said dryly, tilting his head in amusement. “Okay… what else fuelled this sudden confrontation?”

“When I saw you in the gym, you were super in shape, like peak physical condition in shape, and you’re Batman levels of buff. I mean, some guys train for years just to look like you.”

“I have trained for years. I work out a lot to prevent muscle loss because I have muscular dystrophy.” Shiro explained, that look of mirth still showing behind the stoic expression on his face. “It hasn’t cured it, but it definitely is my best treatment plan my physical therapist and I have decided on right now. Plus it’s good stress relief and I feel my best when I’m in shape.”

“And… the scars? The arm?”

“I was in the military. Discharged when my arm got blown off,” he said bluntly.

Lance winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Not my fondest memory. When I started at my new job, they fashioned me with this expensive arm as a gift. I still get phantom pain but having something there helps.”

“Well what about Dick?” Lance insisted, feeling more and more embarrassed the more his observations were debunked. “The guy you were just talking to in your high tech spy watch? He’s not Robin?”

“_What_?” Shiro laughed out loud at that, a genuine laugh that danced along the alleyway. “It’s a random alias I use for my paranoid boss. Well, not random since she annoys the crap out of me with her demands. But this is just a normal watch with a voice note feature. I use it to remind myself what to say when I write up my reports for her. See, look.”

He shuffled closer and held his left wrist out so Lance could take a look at it. It really was a normal analogue watch with a button on the side labelled with small block letters that said voice note.

“Okay, so maybe the high tech stuff doesn’t fit. But you’re always sneaking around at night and wearing all black and plus you’ve got that long black cape!”

Shiro frowned in bewilderment, staring down at himself as he chewed on his lower lip and observing himself for a few seconds.

“You mean… my coat?” He held the lapels of the long black unbuttoned wool overcoat. Lance realised it looked like it’d been flowing when Shiro had been walking briskly. “Black clothes don’t show stains as easily, so it’s less of a worry in my line of work. Plus black clothes are easier to wash. It’s just more practical.”

“Which… makes total sense…” Lance muttered, the back of his neck flushing hot in embarrassment. “_Christ_. I was so off.”

They stood there awkwardly for a beat, and Lance was unsure what else to say. He’d jumped to so many wrong conclusions it was insane. He’d been so sure Shiro was Batman and it turned out the man was the furthest thing from. And now Lance had made an absolute damn fool of himself and Shiro lived right next door to him so it was definitely going to be awkward running into each other from now on.

(His only conclusion therefore was that he had to move out).

“So… you genuinely thought I was Batman, huh?” Shiro chuckled with a raised brow, the corners of lips tugged up in an amused smirk.

“You had that mysterious, broody thing going on. Anyone would think that!” Lance stuffed his hands in his jeans, willing his hot neck to cool it with the flushing. “If you knew you weren’t Batman, why were you all secretive like that when we talked? Some of your comments made it seem like you were.”

“Well, I-I didn’t know you were thinking I was _Batman_…” Shiro stammered as he rubbed the back of his neck, the barest hint of a flush painting his cheeks pink. “I thought all that was your weird way of flirting or something. And I didn’t know how to flirt back with those comments, so I just played along. Had to show my interest somehow.”

“Oh…” Lance couldn’t help the light flush on his own face. “You’re… uh, interested in me?”

“I asked you over for dinner… Did you really not know?”

Lance grimaced. He’d been stupidly focused so much on unveiling Shiro’s mystery that he hadn’t even realised it was supposed to have been a dinner date. And then to leave abruptly like that? Yikes all around.

“Thought maybe you blew me off because I came on too strong. So I was trying to find a time to ask you if you wanted to go out for coffee instead. I mean, I’m no Batman, but I could make it worth your while… you know, if you’re even interested—”

“No, yeah!” Lance quickly amended. “That sounds great. Coffee would be nice.”

“You free right now?” Shiro asked tentatively, jerking his head towards the entrance of the alley. “I feel like we should start over. And I know this place a block away that makes some great cheesecake too?”

Lance couldn’t stop his smile. “Lead the way.”

They headed out of the alley, walking fairly close to each other as they ambled down the sidewalk to head to the place. Sure, Lance’s investigation became one big bust, but hey, he got a date with a hot guy out of it, so he wasn’t complaining.

“So what _do_ you do for a living anyway, Shiro?” Lance asked curiously.

He may not have been Batman, but that still didn’t explain why the man was a mysterious weirdo. Plus, he still had that demanding night job he made bank from. And then there were the unexplained knives in his room too.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m a hitman.”

“Ohhh… makes se— wait, _what_?!”


End file.
